“We shall find some difficulty in getting into the house,” said the watchman, who evidently felt some repugnance to the task.

“Not so,” replied Thirlby.  And pushing forcibly against the door, he burst it open, and, directed by the cries, entered a room on the right.  The watchman’s statement proved correct.  Stretched upon a bed in one corner lay the body of a beautiful girl, while the poor mother was bending over it in a state bordering on distraction.  On seeing Thirlby, she fled to the further end of the room, but did not desist from her cries.  In fact, she was unable to do so, being under the dominion of the wildest hysterical passion.  In vain Thirlby endeavoured to make her comprehend by signs the nature of his errand.  Waving him off, she continued shrieking more loudly than ever.  Half-stunned by the cries, and greatly agitated by the sight of the child, whose appearance reminded him of his own daughter, Thirlby motioned the watchman, who had followed him into the room, to bring away the body, and rushed forth.  His injunctions were obeyed.  The remains of the unfortunate girl were wrapped in a sheet, and deposited in the hand-barrow.  The miserable mother followed the watchman to the door, but did not attempt to interfere with him, and having seen the body of her child disposed of in the manner above described, turned back.  The next moment, a heavy sound proclaimed that she had fallen to the ground, and her shrieks were hushed.  Thirlby and Leonard exchanged sad and significant looks, but neither of them went back to see what had happened to her.  The watchman shook his head, and setting the barrow in motion, proceeded along a narrow footpath across the fields.  Remarking that he did not take the direct road to the plague-pit, Leonard called to him, and pointed out the corner in which it lay.

“I know where the old plague-pit is, as well as you,” replied the watchman, “but it has been filled these three weeks.  The new pit lies in this direction.”  So saying, he pursued his course, and they presently entered a field, in the middle of which lay the plague-pit, as was evident from the immense mound of clay thrown out of the excavation.

“That pit is neither so deep nor so wide as the old one,” said the watchman, “and if the plague goes on at this rate, they will soon have to dig another—­that is, if any one should be left alive to undertake the job.”

And chuckling as if he had said a good thing, he impelled his barrow forward more quickly.  A few seconds brought them near the horrible chasm.  It was more than half full, and in all respects resembled the other pit, except that it was somewhat smaller.  There was the same heaving and putrefying mass,—­the same ghastly objects of every kind,—­the grey-headed old man, the dark-haired maiden, the tender infant,—­all huddled together.  Wheeling the barrow to the edge of the pit, the watchman cast his load into it; and without even tarrying to throw